


No Fortress Is So Strong

by Ellegrine



Series: Brotherhood [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jason Todd, Big Brother Jason Todd, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Discussion Of Murder, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt Damian Wayne, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Major Character Injury, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, POV Jason Todd, Protective Jason Todd, The League of Assassins (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellegrine/pseuds/Ellegrine
Summary: Jason shakes with rage. How dare they?How dare they?
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: Brotherhood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594954
Comments: 101
Kudos: 1475





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the following quote by Antisthenes: “When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.”

Jason Todd is only here because Alfred Pennyworth called him. That is the only reason, at all, that he’s willing to enter Wayne Manor. And even a call from Alfred wouldn’t have been enough if not for the content of that call.

“Master Damian is very ill. He’s not eating.”

Nothing will keep Jason from his sick brother’s side.

Jason tries not to be bitter that no one else told him. But then, it isn’t like the family actually knows Jason anymore. Had they ever? Or was Jason just Brucie Wayne’s latest charity case after Dick Grayson left? Either way, he doubts they care about his feelings now. Not after everything that he’s done since returning to Gotham. 

He tramples Batman’s rules left and right. 

There are very few people these days that Jason allows to order him around. Bruce has lost that privilege both in and out of the mask.

“You better be all right,” Jason says as he stares up at Damian Wayne’s window.

His heart hasn’t stopped racing since he received the call. The fact that it came from Alfred and not Damian is worrying enough. If something’s bothering Damian so much that he refuses to eat, especially an illness, he should have called Jason.

That he didn’t … well, Jason doesn’t like it.

For a brief moment, after getting the call, Jason wondered if Bruce or Dick prevented Damian from contacting him. But it doesn’t pan out. Because he’s pretty sure they’re clueless about Damian and Jason’s bond. To be fair — he doesn’t want to be fair — they don’t seem to have realized that Jason training with the League of Assassins for years means he knows and cares about Damian.

“Morons.”

Jason scales the outside of the Manor because nothing will get him to walk through the front door. Jason isn’t the Prodigal Son who’s come to reunite with his father after spending his inheritance. He is the son that crawled out of his grave without Bruce Wayne or Batman noticing.

How long did Jason wander on the streets in Gotham and not get recognized? How long was it before Talia al Ghul found and took him in?

“Much too long.”

It takes Jason a matter of seconds to jimmy-rig the window open. Jason has been breaking-and-entering since he was seven years old; he has a lot of experience. It’s a necessary skill to pick up if you want to survive in the Narrows, because sometimes slipping through a door that was locked is all that saves you.

The window slides up soundlessly. Jason slips inside.

“Habibi?”

Jason steps out of the shadows and winces when he sees the state Damian is in. It’s not the first time he second-guesses the decision Talia made to send Damian to his father while she deals with Ra’s al Ghul’s most recent bout of Lazarus Pit-induced mania. All they have to do is wait a few years, and then it will be safe for them to go home to the League. Jason’s already looking forward to going back. He knows Damian is as well.

“Akhi.”

Jason hates how pale Damian is, knowing it isn’t the moonlight. His little brother’s skin is almost as pale as Jason’s own. He strokes Damian’s sweaty hair off his forehead, frowning at the heat radiating off Damian’s skin. The fever seems dangerously high. The last time Damian had a fever this high, it was because of an infection in a wound he — 

Ugh, crap, of course.

“Habibi, where—?” 

Damian’s bedroom door opens with a creak so faint Jason almost doesn’t hear it.

Jason ducks and rolls off the bed, taking Damian with him. He cradles Damian’s head and neck as they land on the bedroom floor. A groan of pain spills from Damian’s lips, which riles Jason’s temper. He knows what kind of training they’ve both endured. Damian doesn’t voice his pain for petty injuries. Whatever is wrong, it’s serious.

A wingding slams into the wall behind them and breaks the plaster.

“Are you okay, Habibi?” Jason whispers.

“Get away from him, Hood!” Dick Grayson says, dressed in his Nightwing suit. He doesn’t seem to care that Alfred will give him hell later for wearing the suit upstairs. He’s glaring with righteous fury.

Jason’s ire rises. Damian is in pain, even more so now after Jason instinctively got him out of the way. It pisses Jason off that he came here to help his little brother and accidentally hurt him instead. Dick’s made things  _ worse. _

“No.”

Jason grits his teeth. How did this happen? He timed his visit so that everyone would already be out on patrol. What could have possibly delayed them? Why is Nightwing even in Gotham? Isn’t he protecting Bludhaven now?

A massive, black form appears behind Dick. It is, quite possibly, the last person in the world that Jason wants to see right now.

“What are you doing here?” Batman asks. 

And it  _ is _ Batman, not Bruce Wayne, hulking in the doorway like an avenging shadow. Jason has no trouble telling them apart. Even after all these years, he can distinguish the superhero from the man. But that doesn’t mean his feelings for either don’t bleed all over each other. They do. Oh, they do.

For all that it was Batman, and not Jason’s adopted father, who threw that batarang ...

The scar on Jason’s neck throbs.

“Give me the boy.”

Jason wants to stand up and punch Batman in the face until he shuts up. He doesn’t get to give Jason orders anymore. Jason isn’t Robin. He hasn’t been Robin for  _ years. _ Batman has no right to try and boss Jason around as if he’s a subordinate. 

The Red Hood doesn’t answer to Batman, never has, and never will.

“The boy?” Jason grits out. 

Could Bruce have used a more dismissive form of address if he tried? Does he call his own son “the boy” all the time? Is this one more thing Damian is suffering through on top of losing all familiarity in his life? 

“He has a name you—”

“Hood, please,” Dick begs, taking a cautious step forward, “don’t hurt him. What do you want? We can—”

“Screw. You.”

Jason shakes with rage. How dare they?  _ How dare they?  _

It doesn’t matter that they don’t know he practically raised Damian. The mere suggestion that he would harm his little brother is intolerable. Jason never laid a hand on Damian in anger, not even when he was in the deepest depths of Pit Madness. He sees the green glow emanating from his own eyes; he doesn’t need their sudden tension to know the Lazarus Pit is close.

_ He will never forget how it feels. _

“Akhi,” Damian says, voice thready, raising one shaking arm to cup his cheek.

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and bites his tongue. It hurts. The pain helps him focus on the present. “You should have called, Habibi. Why didn’t you call?”

“Tt.” Damian glares at the silent men in the doorway to his room. “Grayson broke my phone. Father has yet to replace it.”

And given the sound Damian made when Jason rolled them onto the floor, his little brother must be in significant pain. There’s no way Damian could have made it to the Manor landline. Well, that’s not true. Jason knows Damian could have made it, even in his current condition. But there’s no question that it would have been agonizing. And if Damian felt it would reveal a weakness in front of untrustworthy people, well … Jason understands why he didn’t. 

If Dick hadn’t broken Damian’s phone, then Jason could have — 

“What’s going on here?” Dick asks, shifting his weight to his other leg and dropping his right shoulder.

Jason recognizes the move. It’s the shift Dick makes before diving to snatch a victim from the grip of a Rogue. It would serve them right if Jason jumped out the open window with Damian in his arms and disappeared to one of the safehouses Bruce and Dick don’t know about.

_ They can’t be trusted to keep Robin safe, _ says the dark curl of Jason’s thoughts.

There’s no question in Jason’s mind that whatever is wrong happened while Damian was out as Robin. If Damian got an injury  _ inside Wayne Manor _ that’s brought him this low, he might kill Bruce and Dick for real.

Jason will do anything to keep his baby brother safe. Anything.

“You really don’t know?” Jason demands.

How can they claim to be such great detectives if they can’t even tell when someone is hiding a dangerous injury? Jason’s close enough he can smell blood. Do they just not spend time with Damian at all? Has no one been near enough to smell the injury?

Each question that comes to mind only paints Bruce and Dick in a worse light.

“Know what?” Dick demands, sounding defensive. “What are we supposed to know?”

Jason glares at Dick and Bruce, before abruptly turning his attention to Damian. His brother is the most important person in the room. And he needs Jason right now. Bruce and Dick can choke on their ignorance for all he cares.

“Where is it?” Jason asks.

As much as he wants to rail at Bruce and Dick, now isn’t the time. He can spew vitriol at them later. He can start by asking them how it could possibly be so hard to keep Robin alive. And when they freeze and stare at him with wide eyes, he will say, “If you want another dead son or brother, put him in the grave yourself; neglect is the coward’s way out.”

Of course, if they ever  _ do _ lead Damian into a grave, Jason will — 

“My back.” 

“Ah, hell, you’ve been laying on it?” Jason asks.

Damian’s hiss of pain when they landed on the floor makes sense now. Jason hopes he didn’t accidentally aggravate the injury when he dodged the wingding and took Damian with him. He pulls Damian’s shirt over his head. 

Jason ignores Dick’s lurch forward, but he can’t help how he freezes as Bruce grabs a batarang. Is that one going to end up in him too? If Bruce throws it, Jason will put himself between his brother and danger; what is one more scar, anyway? At least this one would be his by  _ choice. _

“D-Dami?” Dick’s voice breaks but does nothing to disguise the horror in it.

There is a long, fairly deep wound on Damian’s back. It bleeds sluggishly after Jason removes the soaked bandage that sloppily covers it. The edges of the wound are red and inflamed. 

“Oh, Habibi.”

If they had been at home in the League of Assassins, this wouldn’t have happened. If Jason had been there, Damian would have gotten immediate medical attention. As much as he doesn’t want to, Jason might have to move back into the Manor to keep Damian safe.

It’s blatantly obvious that Bruce and Dick aren’t up to the task.

“I’m here now,” Jason whispers. “You’ll recover.”

“Tt. Obviously,” Damian replies.

It warms Jason’s heart that Damian has so much faith in him. Jason worked for that faith; he earned it with the blood of his veins and arteries. It’s one of the few things in the world that he doesn’t think he would survive losing.

Jason folds the shirt he took off Damian and puts pressure on the injury until he can tend to it. Damian bites his lip but doesn’t voice his pain again. His little brother is so strong and always puts on a brave face in front of outsiders.

Damian makes Jason unbelievably proud.

“Why ... why didn’t you say anything, Dami? You can trust us to help you!” Dick says. He removes his domino mask; tears are in his eyes.

_ “Avoid the company of liars, but if you can’t, don’t believe them,” _ Damian says in Arabic.

It’s but one of the many proverbs and mantras that are taught to the League. Jason learned many alongside Damian. He’s taken the vast majority of them to heart and knows Damian has done the same. It’s a legacy of knowledge that has been passed down for hundreds of years.

Life in the League of Assassins is  _ different _ from life in Gotham.

There’s no question as to which way of life Jason and Damian prefer.

“W-what does that mean?” Dick asks.

Bruce translates from the doorway, his voice pained, “Avoid the company of liars, but if you can’t, don’t believe them.”

“I’m not lying! Dami, you can trust us!” Dick says, so painfully earnest. He’s always earnest. Sometimes, that’s not enough.

What Damian says next — another Arabic proverb — sends Bruce staggering back a step.

Jason grins, vindicated, and carefully picks up Damian. He makes sure to avoid Damian’s injury. There are few things in life Jason hates more than causing his brother pain. Brothers aren’t meant to harm each other.

_ “Move,” _ Jason orders the two men blocking the doorway.

He is going to take his little brother, _his only brother _as far as he’s concerned, down to the Batcave. Jason will clean the wound, stitch it up, bandage Damian properly, give him antibiotics, and then make him some khichdi.

It won’t be home, but it’s as close as they can get right now.

Dick grabs Jason’s arm as he goes to walk past. “Jay, w-what...?”

Jason stares up at Dick, the Golden Boy, the Pinnacle of Perfection that Jason always falls short of when they’re compared. The translation of Damian’s words will hurt Dick. The words are a sharp knife to the heart, carving wounds that won’t be healed with an apology Damian will never offer.

With relish, Jason translates Damian’s words into English, “When trouble comes, it’s your family that supports you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jason carries Damian down to the Batave without speaking another word to Bruce or Dick. Though, no surprise, they follow him. Whether they think he will hurt Damian, or whether they’re just being nosy, he doesn’t care. He’s not here for them.

Damian’s even paler in the light of the Batcave and his breathing is thready. He’s burning up. Jason can feel the heat of Damian’s skin through his leather jacket.

How long has Damian been like this? How many days ago was he injured?

Robin doesn’t get to patrol every night, especially during the week on school nights. Has it been two days? Three? How long was Damian suffering in silence? How did  _ none _ of them realize that Damian was legitimately injured and not just ill?

The Pit yawns closer. Jason counts Damian’s breaths to fight it back.

“How may I assist, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, standing from where he was seated at the Batcomputer. 

“I’ve got it, Alfie. Thank you for calling me,” Jason says.

He doesn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if Alfred hadn’t called him. They probably wouldn’t have discovered the wound until Damian was delirious. And Damian is never more dangerous than when he’s fighting wounded and potentially hallucinating. They likely would have had to hurt him worse to take him down; Jason knows he would have reacted incandescently to finding out about something like that happening after the fact.

“Alfred, you knew?” Bruce asks, voice blank of all emotion.

Jason can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce feels betrayed. A vicious spark of satisfaction ignites in his chest. Oh, it’s not even remotely comparable to Batman hurling a batarang at his adopted son to save a mass murder and terrorist. Not even close. 

But the dark, petty thoughts in Jason’s head want it to hurt.

If Alfred calling  _ Jason _ to help and comfort Damian wounds Bruce in the slightest, Jason is glad for it.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Master Bruce. I know a great many things,” Alfred replies.

Jason snorts and sets Damian down on the hospital bed they have in the medical area of the Batcave. He doesn’t have to speak a word of direction; Damian immediately rolls onto his stomach to give Jason access to his back.

The unspoken show of trust soothes the remnants of the Lazarus-green rage in his mind.

Without question, Damian trusts Jason with his back. It almost appears to be a thoughtless gesture on Damian’s part; Jason knows it isn’t. It’s something Jason earned in blood. 

“How bad is it?” Damian asks.

Jason stares at the inflamed, sluggishly-bleeding gash and answers, “Worse than Caracus. Not as bad as Nepal.”

“Tt.”

The very first time Damian spun to face an attacker, leaving his back wide-open, Jason got stabbed in the stomach protecting it. Damian repaid him three weeks later, receiving a broken collarbone in the process. Theirs isn’t a careless, cheap trust that can be easily broken. It’s been bought and paid for with suffering, wounds, and time.

Jason will never forget the time he drew one of his guns and pointed it right at Damian, and Damian didn’t flinch or wince. Not a flicker of doubt entered his cutting green eyes. He stood stock-still even as Jason pulled the trigger.

And when the assassin behind Damian fell to the ground, he sneered at the corpse and reminded Jason it was time to eat dinner.

So seeing  _ this, _ a bleeding wound on his baby brother’s back, is agony. Jason should have been there. If he was, this never would have happened.

_ “Are you angry with me?” _ Damian asks in League Dialect.

_ “Never,” _ Jason assures him in kind.  _ “I understand why you don’t trust them.” _

If Bruce and Dick were a League Father and Brother, the Joker would already be dead for what he did to Jason. The monster wouldn’t have lived to see the next sunrise. He would have been hunted down like prey and executed without mercy. Jason has performed this same duty multiple times for Damian. Damian has undertaken the same task on Jason’s behalf twice.

Neither he nor Damian — nor any of the al Ghuls for that matter — forgive their leniency.

It’s not that Jason  _ can’t _ kill the Joker. Because it’s easily within his repertoire of skills. It’s simply that he  _ shouldn’t have to. _ His self-proclaimed father and brother should have wrought vengeance on his behalf; they haven’t.

Jason can’t forgive that.

“What are they saying?” Dick asks.

Bruce’s voice is terse when he replies, “I don’t know.”

It must drive Bruce mad to not be able to understand what they’re saying. But then, he can’t really expect to be fluent in the al Ghul League Dialect when he didn’t commit to the League of Assassins. Even Talia wouldn’t teach that to an outsider, not even her “Beloved.”

Some secrets belong solely to family.

Bruce Wayne  _ isn’t _ part of the al Ghul family. He made his choice; he gets to live with the consequences. Of which, ignorance regarding certain League Dialects is but a small part.

“I shall leave you to it, young masters, Master Bruce,” Alfred says before leaving the Batcave.

The tension only rises after Alfred leaves. It grates on Jason’s nerves, but he does his best to ignore it. He desperately tries to keep Bruce and Dick in his line-of-sight at all times. It’s impossible, given his self-appointed task, but he tries so hard.

He can’t stop himself from wondering,  _ If Bruce will hurl a batarang at my neck, what will he throw when my back is turned? _

Jason doesn’t think Bruce will attack him while he’s tending to Damian. But, hell, Jason never thought Bruce would almost slit his throat in order to save the Joker. So … 

_ “They have a shrine in the Cave. It holds the uniform you were murdered in,” _ Damian says disparagingly.  _ “It’s labeled ‘The Good Soldier.’” _

Jason stops breathing. Hell, that almost hurts as much as the batarang did. The Good Soldier? He was tortured in a warehouse in Ethiopia, was left for dead,  _ died, _ and all Bruce had to say was that Jason was a  _ Good Soldier? _

The adoption apparently meant even less to Bruce than Jason thought. Because the enshrined suit must have been erected  _ before _ the batarang incident. How dare Bruce do that? How dare he protect the suit Jason died in behind glass when he didn’t bother to protect Jason himself?

Jason laughs; it’s a bitter, broken thing.

He forces himself to not look for the case. If he does, he’s going to scream and throw things. Right now, his priority needs to be attending to his little brother’s injury.

Damian switches to Arabic to say,  _ “They have no honor.” _

In his peripheral vision, Jason catches Bruce’s backward stagger. He collapses into the chair Alfred vacated when they entered the Batcave. Bruce’s face pales and his hands shake. 

Nothing hurts quite like the cutting honesty of a child.

Jason doesn’t disagree with Damian’s statement, and something petty and satisfied purrs in his chest when Bruce buries his face in his hands.

“Bruce?” Dick queries softly.

Jason finishes gathering the supplies he needs and places a reassuring hand on Damian’s shoulder. He squeezes it once. He doesn’t say something inane like “this will hurt” or “try not to move” because Damian already knows such things. Jason will not insult his intelligence by implying otherwise.

“Tt,” Damian scoffs as Jason injects a local numbing agent and then administers a shot of antibiotics.

Jason knows Damian could handle the pain without it, has done so in the past in tough circumstances, but Jason can’t stand seeing his little brother in pain. He will always do whatever is within his power to keep Damian as safe as possible. Of everything Damian might doubt in life, Jason is determined to ensure that Jason’s love for his brother is never in question.

His hands are steady as he thoroughly cleans the wound and sutures it shut.

Damian doesn’t make a sound the entire time that Jason works.

Jason taps Damian’s side when he finishes, and Damian follows the unspoken cue and kneels on the bed. He automatically lifts his arms so that Jason can bandage the wound appropriately. They have plenty of experience when it comes to this. Thankfully, color is returning to Damian’s skin. The white of the gauze is stark against his scarred golden-bronze body.

Dick’s frowning, jealousy written all over his face when Jason turns to face them after putting away the supplies. As far as Jason is concerned, Dick has no right to be jealous. He’s one of the people who didn’t even notice Robin got injured on patrol. 

“Little D, I wish you would’ve told me. I would have helped you,” Dick says.

Did … did Jason hear that right?

He hadn’t been focused on Dick that closely earlier, for obvious reasons, but he vaguely recalled Dick calling Damian “Dami” too. 

They can’t possibly be  _ that _ out-of-touch, can they? But, well, it would certainly explain a fair amount of Damian’s hostility towards them since the beginning. There’s an edge when he speaks of them that has nothing to do with their failure to avenge Jason against the Joker.

“You do realize he’s a  _ Prince,  _ don’t you,  _ Dick?” _ Jason asks, partly snide and partly shocked. 

“Wait. What?!”

Jason stares at Damian in sympathetic shock. He’s well aware that Dick doesn’t mean it demeaningly, but Damian isn’t accustomed to being treated or addressed so casually. It’s disrespectful. He’s born from the ancient al Ghul bloodline, Heir of the Head of the Demon, and Prince of the League of Assassins. Such childish nicknames from people he doesn’t know well or trust must be uncomfortable and infuriating. 

Talia legally adopted Jason and Jason swore a blood brotherhood oath with Damian before he ever switched from calling Damian “My Prince” to “Habibi.”

“Have they been casual and condescending since your arrival, Habibi?”

Damian sneers and folds his arms, before raising his chin. “Tt. Yes, Akhi. They often address me as if I am a small child who possesses little, if any, comprehension.”

“I do not!”

“That is an inaccurate assessment,” Bruce says, weighing in on the discussion.

“I am weary of the company of liars,” Damian says, causing Dick and Bruce to flinch and wince before their gazes ignite with the fight they’re so well-known for. “I require tea and a meal.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Dick says, taking a hurried step forward.

Jason crouches and Damian slides off the bed and onto his shoulders. He doesn’t even think before passing Damian one of his knives; Damian’s always been better at knife-throwing than Jason. Even while injured, he won’t miss his aim if he needs to help defend them.

Horror replaces the indignation on Dick’s face and he quickly backpedals, hands raised. “We’re not going to attack you! We would never—”

“That you assume any place on Earth is secure enough to lower your guard reveals how little you understand the real world,” Damian states as he tucks his feet behind Jason’s back to maintain his balance in case Jason has to move quickly. 

It’s a position they’ve drilled over a hundred hours on maintaining. Every single hour was worth it. This very formation saved their lives once in Mogadishu.

“That’s a sad way to live,” Dick whispers, eyes teary again.

Jason scoffs, “Well, at least he’s  _ alive _ to live it.”

Bruce wheezes like Jason just kicked him in the ribcage with the full force of his weight behind it. And Dick makes a choked gurgling sound as if Jason punched him in the throat at point-blank range.

That ugly bit of darkness in his chest purrs.

“Tea, Akhi.”

A fond smile curls Jason’s lips as Damian tugs lightly on his hair with the hand not holding the knife. It has been much too long since they last shared tea together. It’s Damian’s turn to pour. Jason wonders how high Damian will hold the pot this time before he starts. Last time, he didn’t spill a drop, despite pouring from a height of two and a half feet.

“I’m taking Damian—”

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Bruce states as he stands up and shoves the cowl back. He squares his shoulders and looms. “A boy needs his father. He’s staying here.”

Jason has been in the Manor for probably close to an hour now, and he’s yet to hear Bruce refer to Damian by name. It’s always been “the boy” or “a boy” and Jason hates it. He can’t even begin to imagine how it makes Damian himself feel.

Because, honestly, it’s coming across as a rejection of Damian’s identity. And yes, Jason is well aware that Talia never told Bruce about Damian before his arrival. But that’s no excuse for treating Damian like he is.

What? Is Bruce worried that if he calls Damian by name and acknowledges that he has a blood son and heir that he might have a  _ feeling  _ that isn’t justice? 

_ “A boy _ might need his father, but  _ Damian _ doesn’t,” Jason says, stressing his little brother’s name. “I’m all he  _ needs.” _

“What do you mean, Jason?” Dick asks when it’s clear that Bruce won’t.

Jason’s still frustrated and disgusted that they hadn’t noticed Damian’s injury for who-knows-how-long. So he doesn’t hold back. This is going to  _ hurt. _ Judging by the way Dick is bracing himself, he already guessed that. But they all know the danger of asking a question you don’t know the answer to; it might be something awful.

Jason says the proverb in English because he doesn’t know if Bruce will be able to speak after the words hit him, “You  _ need _ a brother, without one you’re like a person rushing to battle without a weapon.” 

“Little Wing,” Dick wheezes, tears spilling over again as he collapses to the floor.

Resolutely, Jason doesn’t think about the first time he heard that lesson. He doesn’t recall how the instructor’s words gutted him emotionally. He doesn’t let his thoughts dwell on how his mind immediately went to a warehouse in Ethiopia, replaying the events in a loop as he wondered how things would have been different if Dick had been on the planet and at his side.

When Bruce starts to fold in on himself, Jason looks away. 

There’s no point in offering comfort, even if he were so inclined, to a man who sees him as nothing more than a Good Soldier. If Bruce can’t even acknowledge his blood son by name, it’s no wonder the street rat he adopted didn’t get more than an epitaph from a commanding officer with a mission to save an unsavable city.

He turns to depart without saying another word to them.

With Damian on his shoulders, Jason leaves Bruce and Dick pale and shaky in the Batcave. 

Once they’re out of sight, Damian rests his chin on the top of Jason’s head and sighs. “I knew you would come, Akhi.”

“The day I don’t come for you,” Jason says, his heart clenching in his chest at the thought of failing to protect and care for his little brother, “is the day the world ends.”

_ “This is your vow?” _

_ “This is my vow.” _


End file.
